I tilted my head, letting my silence stretch until it bit. “From where I stood,” I said softly, “I saw a man defending his own from a dog who doesn’t know when to keep his hands to himself.”
Watson’s jaw ticked, the faintest crack in his mask. His gaze flicked to Parsons, then me, then away. He wasn’t here to protect us—but he wasn’t blind either.
Parsons leaned in, eyes glittering. “Careful, Mordred. You really want me to drag all of you out of here in cuffs tonight?”
Behind him, Nolan cursed through clenched teeth, still straining against the metal around his wrist. Astoria trembled with fury, chest heaving. Josie was pale, pressed so close to the wall with vacant eyes that told me she had disappeared inside herself, disappeared into the memories that haunted her. Vince finally moved, shifting his weight, his eyes dark as midnight storms. The whole room was a hair trigger away from war. I smiled. Just enough to show teeth.
“You’ve made your point,” I said, voice smooth and cold. I stepped closer until only Parsons and Watson could hear me. “But understand this, Detective. Lay another hand on one of my own, and I’ll remind you what happens when the Knights stop playing nice with your department.”
For the first time, Parsons’s grin faltered. Only a flicker. Then it was back, brighter, sharper, dangerous. He leaned close, the stink of gin clinging to his words. “You’re not as untouchable as you think, Mordred.”
Then he straightened, smirk flashing wider for the room as he dug into his coat pocket. Paper crinkled. My gut went cold before he even unfolded it.
“This little dance,” he said, waving the sheet, “was just foreplay.” He snapped it flat, holding it up so every Knight, every patron, could see the bold header across the top. “Search warrant. Signed and sealed.”
The uniforms shifted, anticipation rolling off them like heat. Parsons’s voice dropped, venom threaded with delight. “By order of the department, we’re turning this place inside out.”
Watson’s gaze cut to me once more. Apology didn’t live in his eyes—but warning did.
Parsons dropped the warrant on the bar with a slap of finality. “Hope you’ve been keeping tidy, Mordred. Because now we get to see what your precious Queen’s Table is really hiding.”
Then the search began.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
acelynn
The streetsaround the Queen’s Table were too quiet. Normally, even before I stepped out of my car, the bar pulsed with sound, bass rattling the windows, laughter spilling into the night, the kind of energy that made the air feel alive. But tonight, when I killed the engine and climbed out, there was only the static ring of police radios and the scattered sweep of red and blue lights bouncing off the brick façade. My stomach dropped. Something was very wrong.
I slammed the car door and moved fast, my boots crunching over gravel as I came around the corner. That was when I saw them—the wall of uniforms, bodies in dark Kevlar and navy, blocking the entrance like a barricade. Each of their faces was set in the same hard lines. The glint of badges hit my eyes like polished steel.
The knot in my chest twisted until it hurt. No. Not tonight. Not after everything I’d risked to prove myself to him. I shovedpast the first two officers who reached for me, ignoring the bark of “Ma’am, stop!” and shouldered into the bar with a force that was fueled by panic.
What I saw froze me cold. The Queen’s Table was chaos. Tables overturned. Bottles shattered. The scent of spilled vodka mixed with sweat and fear. The usual haze of neon had been cut through with harsh flashlight beams, every corner probed and exposed. And pressed against the far wall, hands raised, were the Knights.
Nolan was already cuffed, a red welt rising along his cheekbone where someone had slammed him into the ground. He was seething, straining against the officer gripping his arms like he’d bite his way free if he could. Josie’s jaw was clenched, her posture rigid with humiliation, while Astoria’s lips twisted in a snarl every time Parsons brushed too close. Vince…Vince was stone. He leaned against the wall, motionless, but his eyes were sharp enough to cut glass, following every twitch of movement in the room.
And Kaius…
He wasn’t against the wall. He stood at the center of it, not restrained, not cowering, though three officers circled him warily, hands hovering over their holsters. His presence filled the bar like gravity. His face was carved from shadow, unreadable but dangerous, a man holding back a storm with nothing but his will.
At the eye of all of it was Detective Parsons. His grin was smug, self-satisfied, the kind of smile that thrived on power. He looked like he’d already won, like tearing this place apart was just child’s play before the final strike. Detective Watson stood just behind him, silent, steady, and watching everything. Unlike Parsons, there was no glee on his face. Just calculation. I knew this was his doing because I had asked for a distraction, and he delivered.
My voice cracked through the air, louder than I intended. “What the hell is going on?”
Every head turned. Parsons’s grin stretched wider when his eyes landed on me.
“Well, look who wandered in,” he drawled, striding forward. “The prodigal girl herself. Couldn’t resist a party, huh, Acelynn?”
My skin crawled hearing my name in his mouth in this capacity. We were both playing our roles, and I knew he was going to take immense pleasure in drawing it out in the most painful way possible. I forced myself to plant my feet, even though my pulse was slamming in my throat. “You have no right to be here. This is harassment.”
“Harassment?” Parsons cocked his head, eyes dragging over me in a way that made me want to scrub my skin raw. He gestured broadly at the mess of his officers’ flipping stools and rifling drawers. “No, sweetheart. This is called police work and is what happens when rats run wild in my city and think they can hide in shadows forever.”
Behind him, an officer slammed open the back door and disappeared through. I knew where they were going, and I just prayed that what they found in the basement wasn’t going to send every one of us to jail. I mean, herbs and files weren’t illegal…
Another officer ripped through crates behind the bar, tossing glass aside like none of it mattered. The sound grated like nails on my nerves. I took another step closer until I was breathing in the sour stench of his cologne. “Police work usually requires evidence. A warrant. Actual probable cause. Do you have any of that, Detective? Or are you just here to play thug in uniform?”
The smile twitched. Just a flicker, but I saw it. A crack in the smug mask.
